A short while ago I spent some time cleaning my Favorites folder and deleting links to blogs I hadn't been visiting. I probably deleted a half dozen. Today, I spent some time adding links to my Favorites folder of maybe a dozen blogs that I found from other blogs and sites like this one. Now I can throw away my link to the Globe of Blogs because I've got such an extensive list. Reading one blog leads to reading 10 or more, because of all the linking. That is what I love so much about the whole blog-reading experience: the interconnectedness.
I read 10 or 12 blogs on a daily basis. This takes less time than you might think. Some bloggers don't update every day, and many posts are quite short. When I find a blog I like, I usually venture into the archives. This gives some background on the author which throws some perspective on current happenings. Now, doing this takes some dedication as some bloggers have been at this for a couple of years. The reward is getting to enjoy some good writing, funny stories and pictures of people who live in other places but have things happen to them, just like they happen to you, only funnier. And different.
What it comes down to is this: Blogs = Love.
Now I find myself in a kind of quandary. What kind of blog do I have? What am I doing with this here blog? It is not really a mommy blog, even though I am a mom; It is not a cross-stitch blog, even though I cross-stitch; It is not a book blog, etc. You get the idea. It is me. In what category is that? I am anonymous. Who am I? Why would someone read what I have to say, Anonymous Girl in Internetland? My family and my friends know who I am and I've given them this URL. They nearly make up my entire audience of 7 visits per day [half of which are me, updating this blog]. I write about my life pretty honestly, except the details of names and specific places are blurred to protect the innocent. I thought this would be a good way to write on a regular basis; to update people with stories of my life, or about OC; and there would be pictures.
The thing is, I want to develop my voice a bit more. No, a LOT more. There is a sea of great blogs out there, with hundreds of readers because they are funny. And insightful. I don't want to copy these people, I want to be myself. I don't care if I have hundreds of readers, but I would like to be readable; [A million-dollar book deal would not be so bad.] To stand up to my own scrutiny.
I know that this blog will not be a "Dear Diary" blog with entries like "Sorry I haven't written in so long" because I can't stand reading that kind of schlock. It will not be a political blog, although I certainly have some political opinions, and am interested in politics and government. I will also not write a strong opinion and then follow it up with platitudes to all persons everywhere. I hate that trite crap.
I guess that means that what it will be is a hodge podge, a potpourri; nay, a veritable amalgamation of thought across an array of subject matter, distilled and served up here for your perusal.
In case you're wondering what the hell my problem is, I'll tell you: This is the exact same problem I struggle with in life. I am 32 years old, and only very recently became confident enough to express myself, to be a whole person and stand up for myself. It all feels so tenuous. I often feel myself sliding back to my old "Oh my G-d is this good enough for other people? What do they think of me? Please like me!" Up until 8 months ago or so, my biggest fear in life was the possibility of offending someone. Ick! I know! Immediately I want to throw up when I think that way. It is, however, true what they say about old habits dying hard.
Sure, I worried about getting anthrax in the mail like everyone else. Or something terrible happening to my child. But in day-to-day life, I feared disagreeing with someone so that they might not like what I had to say and therefore not like me. Yes! I did! Isn't it pathetic? Oui. C'est tres pathetique, mon amis.
I debated whether or not to start a blog for months before I actually did it. I wondered what I would have to say or if I would have enough to write once a (week) day, and mostly, if I would dare to write what I really thought or turn tail and run the other way like the scared chicken that I am.
It turns out I've got a lot of things in my head to talk about, which I already knew. It further turns out that I am not afraid of offending the multitudes, even if I get scared when I write things with which I know people are not going to agree.
Luckily, I don't have a multitudinous number of readers. Heh.
What I am more afraid of now is not writing my thoughts well. Quite the change, right? I want to reread this blog's earlier entries and see crappy writing, and then see the writing get better. Also? I don't want to take myself too seriously.
[Oops...too late for that last one...]
Or, maybe it's not too late. Maybe I will find my original voice. Maybe I will not be boring. These are my goals. No, wait. Those are not my goals. The first one is good, about being my own original voice, but I don't care if I'm boring or not. Who is the ultimate judge of that, anyway? My second goal will be to clearly communicate what I mean to say. I don't want to read a post later and think, "Oh, but I didn't really explain what I meant when I wrote that...." I should be able to communicate what I am thinking in a way that I can stand by later on, that doesn't require clarification. Yes, those are my goals.
I feel much better now. Goals are defined; Thoughts are clarified. Yes, I am a Type A personality. Why do you ask?
And now, for one time only, please enjoy the following because you will not read anything like this again at this URL:
OMG! Matt Damon is soooo cute! I heart him. Sorry I haven't written in so long. I have been busy scouring the internet for Matt Damon pictures and writing him fanmail. I will marry him someday, right after he divorces that Luciana chick. You know they will get divorced, because she is SO not the right woman for him. I am! [Giggle giggle!!!]
P.S. Me again. My husband is WAY cuter than Matt Damon. Waaaaaaaaaaay C.U.T.E.R.